


Spin

by Rynfinity



Series: Out of the Mouths of Babes [6]
Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Alternate Universe - Human, Bigotry & Prejudice, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mental Institutions, Physical Abuse, Sibling Incest, Substance Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-21
Updated: 2014-03-26
Packaged: 2018-01-16 11:00:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1345009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rynfinity/pseuds/Rynfinity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“That one,” Odin says with a grimace, “was lost to us long ago."</p><p>This is a direct sequel to Deconstruction and will make the most sense read after its predecessors.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Adjusting is difficult, and family doesn't help matters.

"I'm trying. Oh, how I'm trying," Thor half-groans, half-sighs into the phone. "But it really, really isn't easy." It’s not. It’s one of the hardest things he’s ever done.

"I know," Sif says quietly. "This transition has to be very difficult for Loki... which means it's undoubtedly going to be beyond challenging for you, too." He can hear her tapping a pen on something metallic; her computer, maybe. "Do you want me to come over?"

He does, but he doesn't. Despite what everyone’s been telling him, Thor still feels like he should be able to handle this sort of thing. Loki is just one person, after all. "I think we're okay. Sorry to keep bugging you," he tacks on when she says nothing."

"Seriously, Thor?" _Good going, Thor; now EVERYONE is in a mood._ Sif sighs loudly. "I'm sorry. It's just frustrating sometimes."

At that, Thor laughs in spite of himself. "Tell me about it." Frustrated doesn’t even begin to touch the way he’s feeling.

~

"You need help in there?" Thor leans close to the bedroom door and talks into the crack in a barely-successful attempt to keep himself from yelling.

" _NO!_ Fuck, Thor, for the millionth time, just leave it. _Leave me the fuck alone for a few minutes. Is that too much to fucking ask? Is it?_ " Loki’s voice is just short of ear-splitting.

Thor counts to fifteen, slowly, inside his own head. Must. Not. Fire. Back. "No, of course it's not. I'll be in the living room if you need me."

Once he's out of easy hearing, Thor clenches both fists and roars in frustration. Doing nothing is just fucking killing him.

 _It's okay to punch a pillow it you need to,_ he can practically hear his therapist saying. _Everyone needs an outlet._ He glares at the sofa cushions for several minutes, struggling his way through something that might almost pass for deep, calming breathing, and then flops down without hitting anything.

He should be proud of himself.

Except he's got nothing left for that; he's too busy worrying over his brother.

~

Loki hasn't even been home two full days, and already things are at least halfway in the shitter.

~

As best Thor can tell, his brother has misplaced something. Minor problem, sure, but on top of the stress of leaving residential treatment it's apparently a little too much. One straw too many; one brick too few.

Whatever the issue, Loki is not taking to the whole thing kindly.

Following detailed instructions from the facility, Thor had carefully cleared the apartment of threats well before his brother's return. Historically, Loki cuts, gets into substance trouble, and sometimes shows an awful propensity for _self-harm through risk-taking and button-pushing_ , but that's pretty much it (not that those things alone aren't enough, because they totally are... more than enough). Based on that, Thor hadn’t been told to eliminate shoelaces or belts or plastic bags. Still, the bedroom should be reasonably safe.

Plus, nothing screaming this loudly – or this frequently – can possibly be dying.

Even keeping all that in mind, though, Loki’s little meltdown is frightening and upsetting and Thor could swear his every fucking nerve is buzzing.

On top of that, the whole ruckus has been going on for over an hour now. He’s teetering, balancing right at the point where he's torn between wishing it would stop and wanting to make it stop, and that's dangerous, dangerous territory.

He fishes his phone out of his pocket. "Maybe you should come over after all," he tells Sif. “I’m sorry.”

~

She plops a grocery bag on the counter and sets straight to making good old-fashioned hot chocolate, the kind that takes a saucepan and stirring and everything. Two saucepans, actually, since she's making some for herself and she doesn't do dairy. In next to no time the apartment fills with a rich, heavenly scent that leaves Thor’s mouth watering.

Once everything is pretty much ready, Sif turns both burners down to _warm_ and turns to look straight at Thor. He raises his eyebrows; she holds a shushing finger to her lips. As he watches her curiously, she crosses the kitchen floor and stands at the hallway door. After another quick glance back at Thor she shouts "hey, baby, you want some cocoa?" loud enough to cut through Loki's banshee-quality screaming.

Surprisingly, the awful noise from the bedroom actually stops. "I can bring you some if you're busy with something," she continues, at a much more reasonable volume.

If Loki answers Thor can't hear him, but everything stays nice and quiet and that in itself is like a little slice of paradise.

Sif stretches to grab a metal travel mug from the cupboard and fills it with steaming cocoa. "I'll stick around until it cools down some," she promises as Thor starts to object. "I get that he shouldn't be in there alone with boiling liquid, I do." She grins crookedly. "Not my first rodeo, remember?"

As she totes the cocoa off down the hall, Thor can't help but think it: _She is just so much better at this sort of thing than I am._

~

He sits perfectly still on the couch, ass on one cushion and feet up on the other one, and sips carefully on his steaming hot chocolate. Sif must have left the bedroom door open; if he strains Thor can just catch the low murmur of voices. 

He can’t hear what they’re saying. He makes himself not try to eavesdrop; she’s got this, and he should let it go.

~

He finishes the last dregs of the cocoa and sets the cup gently down. It's been close to half an hour since Loki quieted down, looking at his phone. The sharp edge of Thor’s anger has long since dissipated; it’s left the heavy, sinking feeling that _nothing ever changes_ in its wake.

He should let _that_ go, too.

Thor’s stomach gurgles. Right, dinner. Just as he swings his feet down to stand, though, he hears soft footsteps in the hallway.

The confidantes reappear, Loki with red-rimmed, puffy eyes and Sif with a sisterly guiding hand on the small of his brother’s back. "Hi, Thor," she says, and then "go ahead, baby. Tell your brother what you told me." She shoots Thor a sharp look. "I think he's ready to listen.”

Thor scrubs his hands over his face and leans back - fingers in his own hair. He nods, carefully schooling his face into as calm and non-combative an expression as he can.

"Um." Loki clears his throat loudly and then starts coughing. "Excuse me. Shit. I'm a mess." He probably is, but he looks absolutely beautiful just the same. Thor wants to spring to his feet and hug his brother madly. He doesn't. He waits.

Eventually Loki clears his throat again. "I'm exhausted and afraid. This is such a big change, Thor. I worry that I'm not ready… that I’m going to fuck up again, one time too many." He wipes away a stray tear. "Anyway, I wanted you to know that I am trying... and- and that I'm sorry."

Loki? Loki does not know from _sorry_. Not in the big sense. Not like this. _Oh, my._ Sure, a little corner of Thor's mind reminds that _he's just playing you, buddy_. The rest of him, though, feels considerably, dramatically better.

"Thank you," he offers pleasantly in return. Calm. Dependable. "It's a big change, you're right. We'll get through it. Come sit with me." He pats the cushion. "We can order take-out."

Loki hesitates only briefly before hopping forward and landing beside him on the couch with a hard bounce. Thor spreads his arms wide - invitation, not demand - and his brother scoots over, feet tucked up, to snuggle warm against his side. "I love you, sweetie," Thor tosses out there. He kisses his brother's hair, and then Loki's forehead.

"I love you too," Loki whispers against Thor's neck, only barely loud enough to hear.

It’s like another slice of paradise, bigger than the first.

~

 _Estranged_ is probably too strong a word to apply to the Odinson/Borson situation. Thor and his father still cross paths at the office with relative regularity, where they are cordial at best and still generally civil at worst.

It's more that, since Frigga died, they've gone in separate directions. Perhaps they have always been doing that, all Thor’s life, and it just took losing his mother to make him see it.

Odin, as best Thor can tell - he has taken pains not to pry because: reasons - can't relate to his life choices. Not _those_ life choices: Thor's disinterest in following in his father's cold and lonely footsteps to the top of the dungheap. His insistence on vacation days and _work-life balance_. His conspicuous absence from the obligatory happy hours and office cocktail parties.

And Thor, for his part, has found he just cannot come to terms with the idea of a father who could blithely la-la-la his way through parenthood while one son imploded and the other cleaved the world in two like so much fucking lightning. It's not like they grew up in the Dark Ages... it must have been obvious something – far more than one something, if you really think about it, and isn't that what parents _do?_ \- was seriously wrong long before Loki first put blade to slender late-teenaged wrist.

So, it comes as a bit of a surprise - and not the good sort of surprise, at that – when Thor looks up from his latest brief to find Odin leaning heavily against the office doorframe.

~

“I’ve been thinking a lot about your mother recently,” Odin tells him over calamari with sausage and peppers. “I miss her. I’m an old man, Thor; I shouldn’t be missing you, too.”

Thor chews on a ring, slowly. “I’m right down the hall from you, almost every day,” he points out once his mouth is reasonably empty. “Not much opportunity to miss me, really.” Sometimes it’s just easier to play to everyone’s expectations and act stupid.

Odin forks up two rings and one of the squiggly bits Thor would really prefer to avoid, scooping up an ample serving of peppers and sauce along the way. “I never really get to talk with you anymore, though, about anything but work. I don’t know the first thing about your life.”

 _That you sure as hell don’t,_ Thor doesn’t say. He hurriedly stuffs in a big chunk of sausage and then gestures _mouth full_. “Nothing much to know,” he lies when he can talk again. “The usual: work, friends, gym. I’m pretty boring. I’m sorry about mom,” he adds in a desperate attempt to steer the conversation away from himself. “I miss her too. It’s not the same without her.” And then he shouldn’t, but he does: “Or without Loki.”

“That one,” Odin says with a grimace, “was lost to us long ago. Honestly, I think it’s for the best that things worked out the way they did. He was never going to get anywhere… get by, even, for that matter.”

It’s all Thor can do not to throw his cutlery down and stomp out. “You really believe that,” he asks, trying to keep a world’s worth of secrets out of his voice.

His father nods, chewing away on a tough bit. “We did what we could, but none of us could ever have reached him. He was beyond our grasp. You were there at the end; you know. He went quickly. It’s a blessing.”

The whole thing is so cold and heartless, even for his father, that Thor is struck momentarily (and fortunately) speechless. He simply can’t believe his ears. He’s utterly flabbergasted.

Odin, meanwhile, chews steadily on like nothing ever happened. It’s as if his father is completely oblivious to the giant, fast-widening, all-swallowing chasm that has just opened up between them. “Enough about that,” his father continues after a big gulp of tonic. “I hear your life isn’t all that usual, actually.”

Thor wrinkles his nose in mock-puzzlement (and very real consternation). “Huh?” He has no idea where this is going; what else is he going to say?

“I’m sorry you feel you need to hide it from me, son. I’ll be the first to admit it’s not what I expected from you, but you’re an adult and I’m trying my best to accept your choices.”

“Accept what,” Thor asks, dreading the answer. “What choices?”

Odin wipes his mouth on the fancy cloth napkin and looks up, his one remaining eye sweeping across Thor’s lunch and hands before moving quickly to his face. “You’re just not going to be the one to say it, are you,” he grumbles, shaking his head. “You always were stubborn. Well, fine, I’ll say it for you, then: You’re- romantically involved, I think it’s politically-correct to call it, with another man.”

At that, Thor does leave. He doesn’t throw his silverware, though; it’s progress.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Odin gives it a push, downhill... and Thor runs with it.
> 
>  
> 
> _When Loki is the most adult out of everyone assembled, it's pretty much guaranteed there's a problem._

"I've offended you somehow." Odin stands in Thor's office doorway, expression stern and otherwise unreadable.

It's been several days since their disaster of a lunch outing and, yes, Thor has indeed been taking great pains to avoid his father. He pushes his chair away from his keyboard and leans back, faking nonchalance, hands interlaced behind his head. "What makes you say that?"

"I think you may have mistaken my meaning," Odin says instead of answering the question. "Honestly, I'm happy you've found someone." He checks his Rolex, shifting his sleeve out of the way with a quick twist of the wrist. "Listen, I have to jump on a call. Do you have a few minutes after work? I do still want to talk with you."

Normally Thor does everything he can to get right home, but it's Thursday and Loki has group until 8:30 or so. Against his better judgment and feeling rather cornered, he nods.

"Good," Odin says crisply. "I have to run down to City Hall around 4:00; I’ll meet you at the place on that corner at 6:30."

He's, not the least bit uncharacteristically, long gone before Thor can even get out a reply.

~

It’s just starting to rain – more of a light mist, really – when Thor leaves the office. He moves his car to the lot down on Main, the one that's about halfway home, and then walks the few blocks back downtown.

The heavy wooden door creaks, and the strong, unmistakable stink of _old dive bar_ hits him head-on. Thor hasn't been in this place in years; it’s never been the usual office watering hole, and far too many politicians come here. That, and he hasn't really gone out since Loki came back into his life anyway.

Even so, it doesn't look a bit different.

His father is at one of the high-backed booths along the windows, opposite the heavy, dark wood bar, eye patch shining in the reflected light from an old-school neon beer sign. Thor makes his way through the happy hour crowd and squeezes in opposite; Odin, nodding hello, gestures for one of the serving girls with the gin and tonic he's not exactly just nursing. “Sit, sit! What'll it be, son," he asks with his best winning smile.

_At least_ , Thor thinks, _for the time being – thank god for small favors – his father appears to have stopped winking at the barmaids._

"Oh, I shouldn't; not on a school night," he tries. He isn't drinking these days and changing that up without talking it over with Loki first feels more than a little wrong.

"Nonsense," Odin insists. "One won't hurt you. Two," he tells the server, "on my tab."

"Of course, Mr. Borson." She smiles politely at Thor.

"This is my son," Odin goes on, voice booming, still gesturing with his near-empty highball. "He's" - Thor cringes - "taken."

She nods, laughing. "Of course, sir. How could he not be?"

Odin laughs right along with her; Thor doesn't. Nothing out of the ordinary there.

"I know you think I'm an old fogey," Odin declares after their drinks arrive, "and perhaps you're not entirely wrong. I _might_ give you that. But in the end I just want my first-born son to be happy." He takes a big swig of his gin and tonic. "And if that means you're poking your thing in some guy's ass rather than in a nice little pussy," - Thor downs half his own drink in one pull and has to fight like crazy not to choke on it - "well, it's not to my personal taste but what business is it of mine anyway?"

_That_ part is certainly true. Thor knocks back the rest of his drink and gestures to the server for another. He needs to _slow the fuck down,_ he knows he does, but he simply cannot face this conversation sober.

"Sometimes you stumble across a special person without really meaning to, dad, you know," he offers, trying to defuse a little of the tension.

"Isn't that just the way," Odin agrees, face unexpectedly going soft. He looks out the window into the rain for well over a minute, eyes unfocused, smiling gently.

Even though doing so might be the only way to get the spotlight back off of him, Thor just can't find it in himself to press for an explanation. In the end he really, really doesn't want to know.

~

They do bicker a little - Odin wants to meet the lucky guy; Thor deflects and deflects because no way in hell can that ever, ever happen - but all in all their chat probably doesn't go as badly as it could have.

Right up 'til the end, that is, when Thor glances over at the old neon-rimmed clock high above the bar and sees it's nearly 9:00. _Fuck._ "Hey, dad, I didn't realize how late it was getting," he says, trying not to sound frantic. "I need to get going. How much do I owe you?" He leans to the side, reaching for his wallet.

His father waves him off. "Don't be silly. Oh, and tell you what - take the morning off tomorrow.” Odin grins. “Seriously. For humoring an old man."

Thor hauls himself up and out of the booth.

_Whoa._

It was only three drinks – maybe four, definitely not five – but he's clearly way out of practice because the room's spinning. He should probably call a cab but this is an out-of-the way part of the city by this time of night and he simply hasn't got time to wait for one. "Thanks, dad," he offers, shaking Odin's hand. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"I meant what I said earlier," Odin tells him, gripping Thor’s hand firmly. "In fact, I’m actually pleased to see you've moved on. I always worried,” he continues with a suggestive little eyebrow-waggle, "you were a little too _close_ to your brother. If you get my drift."

~

Thor somehow makes it out of the bar without doing or saying anything regrettable. Stumbling a few blocks in the rain pisses him off even more, though; it's lucky the worst he does on the short drive home is curb the car hard as he parks it in front of his building.

As he climbs the stairs, a bit unsteadily, Thor hopes against hope group ran long.

Yeah, no.

~

"You're drunk," Loki says before Thor even has the door closed.

He totally _does not_ need lip from his brother after this shitty fucking evening. He should probably just say that to Loki – a little more politely, ideally – but Thor’s having a wee bit of trouble with _shoulds_ just now. "So," he challenges instead, "what's your point?"

Loki gets up off the sofa and stands in front of him, arms folded and eyes flashing. "I thought we weren't drinking right now. Where have you been," he demands before Thor can even open his mouth to comment on the first part.

Thor sticks his chin out. "With dad, actually. Not that it's any of your fucking business."

"With Odin," Loki says, as if the name tastes like shit in his mouth. "That certainly explains a lot."

_Oh, fuck you, princess. Fuck. You._ "You might recall I work for the man, Loki," Thor rumbles. "He puts this roof over my head. I can't exactly tell him to fuck off every time he wants to talk to me," he storms on, beyond furious, even though that's pretty much what he typically _does_ do… it’s what he’s always done, and Loki for sure knows it.

"Well, well," Loki snarls. Thor hasn't seen his brother this angry in a long time. That in and of itself is a big red flag, but he ignores it. "I guess now we know your _price_ , don't we, brother?" Loki bites the word off right in Thor's face.

"It's sure a lot higher than _yours_ , isn't it, princess?” Thor sneers nastily.

Loki's arms drop, hands balled into fists, to his sides. "I will _not_ ," he yells, saliva flying in Thor's face, "be spoken to that way _in my own home!_ "

_Oh, that's rich._ Thor shoots a hand up and grabs his brother tightly by the jaw, ignoring the pained squeaks as he twists Loki’s head to and fro. "Huh," he says with one last rough jerk, "that's funny: I don't see anyone holding a gun to your head and preventing you from _finding another one!_ "

He lets go just as Loki starts to yank free, his brother’s expression going from pained to _hurt_ to horrified to shuttered in barely the time it takes to step backward once, twice.

Oh god, oh fuck. Thor can feel the world spiraling away. He reaches out. "Loki," he pleads, "I didn't- I don't- I'm so sor-."

"Just don't," Loki says sharply, backing away with one hand raised, palm-out. “Don’t.”

~

As soon as he clears the corner of the coffee table, Loki’s out the door like a shot. His bare feet drum down the stairs far faster than Thor can negotiate them sober.

When Thor gets to the main door and rushes out into the wet, streetlight-dotted night, screaming _Loki_ at the top of his lungs, there's simply no one anywhere.

~

He's way too drunk, Thor finally realizes (far too late, yes), to take off after Loki in the car... and even with bare feet his brother can outrun him sober.

He ducks back in the lobby, breathing in harsh, panicked half-sobs, and pulls out his phone.

Sif's number goes to voicemail.

Sigyn's car is in the shop; he knows there's no point in even trying her. Instead, he (fumbles the phone, nearly dropping it twice, and) calls Volstagg.

~

"You're drunk," his friend observes right off the bat, but he does hear Thor out. "Oh, man," he says, “you really put your foot in it, didn’t you.” He sighs heavily. "My wife is going to fucking kill me, you know."

"I owe you," Thor tells him.

And "thank you."

And "call me the second you find him."

~

It's probably only half an hour, but it feels like all night before his phone finally rings. "I've got him," Volstagg offers before Thor can even say hello.

_Oh, thank god thank god thank god._ "Where are you," he asks, terrified of the answer.

"At my place. DO NOT come over," Volstagg adds, quickly. "My wife will slaughter you, seriously, and Loki does not want to see you right now."

Thor has no answer for that one.

"And Thor? Get some sleep. We'll be talking about this in the morning, you and I."

"But I love him," Thor pleads, helplessly. "And besides," he adds, reaching, trying logic instead, "he needs to be in day treatment by 8:00."

Volstagg laughs. "I suppose this is hard for you to fathom, old friend,” he says, tone bitter, “but your brother actually _got all responsible on me_ and made sure I knew that already."

_Huh_.

"Can I please just-?"

"No, Thor. Goodnight. I’m going to hang up now."

_call ended_ , his phone says.

~

Later on, when he's sleepless and teary and dizzy _and alone_ on the couch, Thor texts _ily_ to his brother. He watches the display until it says delivered, but has to turn the phone over before it’s read.

He waits a long time, holding the damned thing in his hand to be sure he feels when it buzzes.

It doesn’t.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thor owns up to his mistakes; Volstagg runs interference.
> 
>  
> 
> _NOTE: I added the bigotry tag because Thor, describing Odin's attitude towards homosexuality, uses a homophobic slur._

“Hi. This is- um. This is Thor Odinson. Um. Listen, I screwed up last night and, um, my- um, Loki left. Um- It’s hard to believe I talk for a living, um, isn’t it? Anyway, I need some, um, help sorting this out. Give me call when you have time. Um. Yeah. Thanks!”

_Okay, first order of business taken care of._

There isn’t any point in calling Loki – Thor overslept, probably because he was still wide-awake at 4:00 in the morning, and his brother is already at the day treatment program.

Where, even when things are a-okay, clients are not allowed to take calls.

And things are probably not a-okay.

Thor yawns, then lurches awkwardly up off the couch. He stretches, yawning again, and shakes his head experimentally. He’s not really feeling hung-over, per se; just tired and stiff and thirsty.

And sad. Afraid, and sad.

There weren’t any messages on his phone when he woke up.

Loki is always gone by now (see: day treatment), but Thor is usually at the office as well. He’s not used to spending time alone in the apartment anymore and _having his space_ feels surprising less nice than he’s imagined it would. Of course, he might be able to enjoy all this private time a little more if he had some idea when it would be ending.

~

“I had a bit of a busy morning; sorry I didn’t get to call you earlier.”

Volstagg genuinely sounds sorry, which is a relief… and unexpected. Thor hastens to assure his friend it’s fine, opting not to confess that he pretty much just woke up anyway. “How’s Loki,” he asks not more than a second after they’ve gotten the necessary pleasantries out of the way. He simply can’t wait any longer.

“He did okay this morning,” Volstagg says. “Mind you, my wife made it quite clear to me last night that she is not particularly thrilled about having _that druggie_ here with _her children_ \- no no, that part’s fine,” he continues, laughing, when Thor tries to apologize, “They’re only ever _my_ children when they’ve just destroyed the place and gotten their asses grounded. Anyway,” Volstagg continues, “she still isn’t thrilled but Loki was good with the kids this morning. Helpful. He made lunches with her. Oh,” he adds, laughing again, “and he got his dishes all the way into the dishwasher without prompting. In Hilde’s book, that in itself covers a multitude of sins.”

Thor tries to match Volstagg’s cheerfulness one for one but doesn’t quite make it. Okay, he doesn’t make it at all. “Did- did he ask about me?”

“He knows you and I were going to have a talk today,” Volstagg offers, which is pretty much a non-answer. “Speaking of which, I swear to god everyone in the city has blown his or her tranny this week. I am up to my eyeballs in transmission fluid. Do you have time to come down here for lunch?”

He does. “Yeah, Odin gave me until afternoon to drag my ass to the office. Want me to bring meatball subs and we can eat at the shop?” Volstagg runs – well, owns, even – the place and employs a crack staff of six mechanics, but he still likes to get his own hands dirty. If the place is busy, he’s not going to be anything close to presentable. Especially on a Friday, when every customer wants the job done yesterday.

“Sure. And Thor? You’re buying.” His friend laughs one last time. “So bring my guys something, too.”

~

“Go ahead and lay out your side of the story for me,” Volstagg suggests, wiping his messy face on yet another napkin. “I should get the whole picture before I start sticking my nose in it.”

Fair enough. “Someone tipped Odin off that I am _sticking my thingy in some guy’s ass,_ as my dear father so graciously termed it,” Thor explains. “I apparently wasn’t sufficiently grateful for his open-mindedness earlier in the week, so he insisted on going out last night.” He shrugs. “I thought I had enough time, because Loki has, um, group therapy on Thursdays.”

“And?” Volstagg bites off a huge mouthful and starts chewing, watching Thor’s face expectantly.

“And a couple of things. More, maybe.” Thor shuts his eyes tightly for a moment, frowning. “First, Odin was his usual dickish self. Second,” – he ticks off on his fingers, managing to remind himself uncomfortably of Loki – “I have apparently lost all my tolerance, because it only took three or four cheap bar drinks to fucking slay me. Third-.” He hesitates. This one is the hard one.

Volstagg gestures _go on_ , still working enthusiastically on getting his mouth back to empty.

“I am, I am.” Thor shuts his eyes again, rubbing them this time. “He-. Well, he told me he suspected me of- of incest. He _joked_ about it, man, like the whole idea was somehow fucking _funny_.” He can feel his face turning red. “I seriously wanted to kill the bastard. Right there, in the bar.”

“Mm,” Volstagg grunts, then swallows. “Probably not wise.”

“I didn’t do it… I just wanted to. The old fucker was trying to tell me he was relieved that I’d turned out to be _only a faggot_ because _he’d always thought I was plugging my brother._ ” Thor stops, abruptly realizing he’s almost shouting. “Meaning,” he continues a little more quietly, “he thought that was happening way back when I lived there. When it _wasn’t_. When it _shouldn’t have been._ He thought that, and he _let it go._ ’

“Shitty,” Volstagg agrees, licking tomato sauce off his fingers. “But we always knew your old man was quite the prize. How did that turn into Loki dripping in my living room and Hilde ready to pawn me?”

“I was late. I was drunk.” Thor is careful not to blame Loki, even though his brother was plenty snippy too. “I was an asshole.”

Volstagg snickers. “Imagine that. So,” he goes on with a much straighter face, “did you hit your brother?”

“Last night? _No!_ I- I never. Did he tell you that?” He can’t believe even Loki would lie about something that- that- well, that _important_. “Because it’s not true. I just grabbed him,” he blurts out in his own defense, realizing a hair too late that he should probably have stopped at “not true.”

“Down, boy,” his friend admonishes, still lightly. “No, honestly, he didn’t tell me much of anything. He just acted like his jaw was hurting – rubbing it when he thought I wasn’t looking, working it some – and I know he- well, he has a bit of a history of saying what he thinks he should rather than what’s true.”

“But I love him,” Thor stresses. “I would never hit him.”

He hasn’t seen the look Volstagg gives him since- well, since Frigga died. “I’m pretty sure you’ve loved him for ages, Thor… and, over all that time, you’ve hit him plenty.”

~

“Can I have Loki back tonight,” Thor asks as he’s leaving. It’s been a good conversation overall, better than he expected, but he’s still not quite sure where he stands.

“Have you talked to your therapist?” Volstagg, long since out of napkins, wipes his hands and face on a red shop rag. “Because you need to.”

That stings, all the more so because it’s true. “Waiting for a callback,” Thor replies, trying to keep his feelings out of his voice.

Volstagg nods. “If it’s okay with him, it’s okay with me. In the end, though, it’s up to Loki. I can hang onto him a while if I need to,” he continues as Thor starts to object. “I think my wife will adjust. He’s pretty.” With that he shrugs and smiles again, teeth glinting through his heavy red-brown mustache. “Go take care of yourself, Thor, and don’t worry so much. I think Loki’s actually getting halfway decent at taking care of Loki.”

~

“Thor Odinson speaking.” He’s _just_ gotten himself calmed down and started to do some actual work-work when his therapist calls. Thor swallows his annoyance; this gets him one step closer to Loki.

He repeats his sorry tale yet again, a little closer to the abridged version this time, while the social worker practices what Thor’s come to know as _active listening_. It’s gotten less annoying over time, but he still can’t really say he likes it.

“Why do you think things unfolded the way they did,” the therapist asks when Thor finally finishes explaining.

“I- I’m not sure.” He isn’t, truthfully. He was drunk, sure, and Loki was a little bratty, but none of that is anything he hasn’t handled – a whole hell of a lot better, at that – previously.

“Did it feel like it was Loki’s fault?”

Thor feels a sick wave of guilt admitting he feels it but, yes, “a little.”

“Remember what we talked about a few months ago, about how – because of Loki’s illness – life is sometimes just not going to seem fair?”

He does, and says so. “Yes, and you pointed out that was because it really _isn’t_ fair… but it’s Loki’s reality, and I have to accept that.”

“Good,” the therapist says warmly. It’s not the lecture Thor expected. Then again, this guy never really seems to lecture – he lets you punish yourself. “Well, there’s a piece of that _not fair_ business involved here.”

When Thor waits silently, the social worker goes on: “Loki is excruciatingly sensitive to- well, for lack of a better term, we’ll call it _inconsistency._ When people close to him make promises and commitments, he really needs each person to deliver. Every time. Unlike many people, he cannot _just roll with it_ when someone else is having a bad day.”

“Ugh.” Thor feels abruptly horrible, even though the therapist is being nothing but pleasant.

“That isn’t fair, and it isn’t always fun for the people around him, but it’s the way Loki is and no one is going to treat” - _or beat,_ Thor thinks, shivering – “it out of him.”

“So if I want to be with him,” which he really, really does, “I need to- to do a whole lot better at being dependable.” It’s nothing he hasn’t heard before – Sigyn had lectured him about it way back when Thor first met her, months and months ago.

“Is this still a commitment you want to make? Because if it’s not, I can help you find someplace else for Loki to li-.”

“ _No!_ I mean yes,” Thor babbles frantically. “I _do_ want to make the commitment, and I _don’t_ want anyone" – he can’t say it, he can’t – " _living someplace else._ Please,” he begs.

Even though the therapist isn’t really the one who needs to hear it.

~

 _What do you think you need to do, then,_ the therapist had asked.

The answers hadn’t taken long to come by: _No drinking, at least for now,_ and _keep my hands to myself when I’m angry._ The first helps with the second; Thor knows that. Just how much? A lot more than he’d thought, apparently.

 _Next time your father wants to talk, too, give me call,_ his therapist had offered as they wrapped things up. _If you arm yourself ahead of time, things might go better._

 _They sure as fuck couldn’t go worse,_ Thor had volunteered. They’d both laughed, sure, but it really hadn’t felt very funny.

~

Texting doesn’t seem right, especially since his brother’d never answered last night, so Thor waits until about half an hour after the end of day treatment and calls Loki.

He tries to tell himself he’s not crushed when the call goes to voicemail – and to keep it out of his voice as he leaves a cheery _hey, when you’re done for the day, call me_ \- but he- well, he kind of is crushed.

Completely crushed, actually.

~

When the door buzzer sounds about an hour later, Thor jumps half out of his skin. “Hello,” he asks tentatively, finger shaking on the button. He can’t think of any good reason someone would be ringing in… but he can think of a whole lot of bad ones.

“It’s Volstagg,” the speaker crackles, “and Loki. Can we come up?”

Thor’s suddenly too choked-up to answer, but he releases the lock just the same.

~

When Thor opens the door, Volstagg’s leaning with one elbow against the doorframe. He really has got _Loki_ with him; Thor’s brother is sporting a worn old hoodie easily big enough for four of him. It’s also long enough to be a dress, even on his tall frame.

Any other time, it would be funny. It isn’t now.

Thor’s breath catches in his throat. He takes a couple of steps back, hoping that makes it seem less like he’s facing them off in the doorway.

Loki – feet still bare – moves just into the room. “I didn’t take my keys,” he says with a small shrug that’s almost lost in all the fabric, “so I couldn’t let myself in. Sorry.”

“Don’t be.” It’s all Thor can grit out. He opens his arms, wordlessly, biting his lip hard to keep from crying.

When Loki finally comes to him, quiet and subdued, Thor carefully hugs him _very, very gently_.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thor and Loki talk about big, important things.

"You sure you'll be okay here," Volstagg asks Loki before leaving. "Because if you're not - not sure, not okay -" he clarifies, "you have my number. Call me and we'll work something out."

Loki pushes off, holding Thor about a foot away and studying his face closely.

Thor feels something awfully close to _terrified_ ; his brother could just up and leave, here, now, and he's powerless to stop it from happening. The crawling fear probably shows in his expression, and Thor isn't at all sure if that's a good thing or a bad one.

"Thank you," Loki tells Volstagg without looking away from Thor's face. "And thank Hilde for me. I do appreciate it. But I think I will be okay here."

Volstagg nods; Thor can see the movement over Loki's shoulder. "And you ran this by your shrink and he’s okay with this, Thor?"

"Yes. He gave me rules." Actually, they're technically more like rules Thor gave himself, but Volstagg will probably stomach the idea better this way anyway.

"Okay, then. I’ll just be letting myself out. I've gotta say I'm not thrilled about this," Volstagg says, halfway out the door, and Thor can’t decide if he'd rather throttle (not really!) his friend or cry. "But I'll defer to greater minds here. Don't prove me wrong, you two," Volstagg warns as he pulls the door shut behind him.

~

Thor stands motionless, arms hanging loose at his sides. Loki still has him by the biceps, fingers up under the sleeves of his t-shirt and cool against his skin, but his brother’s hands are no longer actively pushing him away.

He's really, really not sure what to do. "Do you want me to give you some privacy? I can go for a walk," he finally offers when Loki just stands there doing and saying nothing.

It doesn't play the way he'd hoped. Loki stiffens, fingers rigid against Thor's arms, and then his brother jerks back a step and wraps both arms around himself instead. "Do you actually not want me here?" Loki looks over Thor's shoulder at nothing, face full of strain, and then stares pointedly at his own foot as though it’s scuffing the rug of its own volition. "I- well, when you said- what you said last night, I thought you were just- being an asshole. I thought you were trying to hurt me. I didn’t- I didn’t think-…" He trails off, still looking at his feet.

Thor swallows, but finds he has to clear his throat anyway. _Calm down. Go Easy,_ he tells himself silently. Everything teeters on the brink. "I very much want you here. And you're right; I _was_ just being an asshole." _You can do this._ "I was upset, but that's no excuse. It was an awful thing to say, and I swear I didn't even mean it while I was saying it." He wants to hold Loki so badly, but his brother stepped back and he needs to- to honor that. "I'm not sure what to do, I guess." But just like that, he is sure: "I guess we should talk, huh?"

Loki nods. "Probably," he responds quietly, still without raising his head.

"Want to go lie down in the bedroom?"

At that Loki does look up, first startled and then smirking. "That was a much quicker talk than I was expecting somehow."

"Oh, god, sorry." Belatedly Thor realizes what it probably – definitely – sounds like he’s implying. "I just meant we should flop on the bed _and talk_." His voice starts to break a little but he pushes on anyway. "Right now talking out here reminds- it reminds me too much of fighting."

"Fair enough," Loki says after a beat. He sounds steadier now, more confident. "After you," he adds, stepping aside and sweeping one arm in a dramatic half-bowing gesture far more suited to Fandral.

It feels weird to go first, but Thor does... rolling his neck and shoulders and pretending not to notice when Loki turns and follows.

"Ahh," Thor groans as he flops on his back - still fully-clothed, because he means what he said about talking - on the mattress. Once Loki eases down beside him Thor rolls slowly to face his brother, propping himself up on one arm. There's a good foot of _demilitarized zone_ between them. "This okay," he asks politely. He wants Loki to be comfortable.

"Mm," Loki hums.

~

_Talking is fucking hard, but being alone forever has to be a whole lot harder._ Thor has to remind himself of this several times, though, before it even starts to sink in.

~

"What do you remember of- from way back, years ago? From before, I guess, this" - he touches the very tips of splayed fingers lightly to Loki's chest, then to his own - "first started?" Thor normally tries not to think about those times at all; they're a confusing, nauseating tangle of guilt and hormones and awful longing. After Odin's recent accusation, though, it's all much harder to ignore and he needs to know.

Loki drops neatly onto his the pillow, flat on his back now, and scoots himself a little closer. He laces slender fingers gently into Thor's; just touching, not squeezing. The whole gesture is so delicate it's hard to bear. "You were the center of the universe. Of my universe. You were so strong, so beautiful; you shone golden like the sun. All I could do, from the moment I first knew anything at all of _want_ , was want you." He smiles almost beatifically up at Thor.

Lying nestled in the pillows, hair spread about him like a shining black mantle, Loki looks like- like a fallen angel. Thor is almost afraid to keep on touching his brother; Loki is too pure, and Thor's awfulness may stain him. May _burn_ , even. He shudders.

"And because you were my brother," Loki continues - no longer smiling, eyes wide and dark in the filtered glow of the streetlight spilling in from the window - "since we're talking _way back when_ , before I- before I knew the truth about myself, I remember feeling safe. Anchored. I thought I could have you forever, because you were my brother and brothers could never leave. Except you did."

Oh, god, that hurts. "I didn't want to." Thor swallows past the lump in his throat and makes himself go on before the pain drowns him… and before he can lose his nerve: "My father- he thinks I molested you." He shudders again, violently this time. Just saying the words makes him feel sick.

"What?" Loki's shocked squawk is too sudden and too raw to be anything but genuine. "Thor, no! You were always the perfect gentleman. Well, about _that,_ at least" he clarifies with a short huff of laughter. "I was a horrible, horrible tease - I was so, so horny and you were so, so perfect - and it still took me years to wear you down."

Thor looks away, at their barely-joined hands resting on the covers between them. "I didn't want to wait, you know. You were beautiful. _Are_ beautiful. I just-." He has to take a couple of steadying breaths before he can work up the nerve to finish. In all their time together, he has never once breathed a single word of this to Loki - to anyone, for that matter. "I just knew it was terribly wrong."

"Is that why you hit me?" Nothing in Loki's tone changes, but Thor feels like he's been punched in the gut impossibly hard. He can't breathe or swallow or move.

Consequently he takes a long, long time - too long, so long that Loki has to prompt him with a squeeze of the fingers and a worried-sounding little _Thor?_ \- to answer... and, when he finally does, it's nowhere near enough. "I- I don't know. I mean, no, that isn't why I hit you." It isn't. Nothing about this is close to that simple. "But I don't know why I did. Why I do," Thor makes himself add even though he desperately hopes he now _doesn't_.

Despite all good intentions he’s crying, really crying, now. "I don't want to do it anymore. I really don't. I'm getting help with it," he offers desperately. He hasn't really discussed his therapy with Loki, after all. It's been kind of- it's been one more in an endless chain of secrets.

_They need to stop with the secrets._

When he finally forces himself to look his brother in the face again, Thor realizes with yet another sinking shock that Loki is crying too. Silently; just big tears welling up and trailing slowly down one cheek to the pillow. To the thick black hair he's tangled strong fingers in so many times.

"I used to like it when you hit me," Loki says quietly. "It- it felt like cutting, but without the awful guilt." He swallows, the line of his throat shifting. "But I'm- they're teaching me in treatment to accept my feelings... and I'm not sure I like you hitting me anymore." Loki's eyes drift closed, long lashes dark against his pale cheeks and glittering with tears. "In fact, I'm pretty sure I don't like it. And even if I do," he continues so quietly Thor has to strain to hear, "I know it isn't good for me."

All Thor can do is squeeze Loki's fingers; still carefully, because Loki is breakable and precious. He has nothing left to say. Just nothing.

~

For a long time they lie there like that, quiet and damp and weighed down by a lifetime of awful missteps.

The silence is smothering. Oppressive.

When he can’t stand it anymore, Thor whispers “do you want a backrub? Just a backrub, and I’ll be really careful.” He will. He will treat his brother like the priceless gift Loki is.

“Mm,” Loki hums faintly, and Thor isn’t sure if that’s _yes_ or _no_. It isn’t until his brother pulls free and rolls slowly face down that Thor realizes just how badly his own hands are shaking.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What should be easy is oh-so-hard.

It's like a nagging itch, and he has no idea how to scratch it. On the surface nothing is wrong... but- but something is. He's just not quite sure what it _is_ yet.

~

Things are finally settling down; their days have normalized, if you want to call it that, into something roughly approximating a routine. Thor works; Loki goes to day treatment. They both come home when they're supposed to, sober and tired. No one cuts. No one yells. No one punches anything. Prescriptions are filled. Therapy is undertaken.

Life is predictable, if not _good_ exactly.

It's a few days before Thor feels comfortable touching Loki, at least with anything more than careful, non-confining, undemanding fingers. Once he does, they manage a couple of rounds of equally-careful, vanilla sex.

They both get off.

They kiss a little. Carefully.

They talk about their respective days and, when the time comes to stop talking, they each listen politely. They use their shiny new skills.

Nothing gets broken, no one screams; there isn't any bloodshed, or any bruising, and there aren't any unfortunate half-truths spoken in anger.

Thor is civil to Odin at work, but his therapist-recommended plan for dealing with future one-on-ones isn't really put to the test; Odin has made the unusual-these-days choice to work a high-profile case, one he doesn't trust to his lackeys, and is finally too busy to have his nose all up in Thor's business.

Which should be good. It _should_.

But something is wrong, and Thor still can't put a finger on it.

~

Midway through the following week, he figures they're finally up to company again. "Should we have Sif over for pizza," he asks his brother after the obligatory post-work hello-how-was-your-day routine. "She probably misses us."

"Oh, I somehow doubt that," Loki jabs, but he's smiling and Thor calls her anyway.

~

Sif is always in charge of the remote; it's just one of her rules. For perhaps the first time ever she abuses that power, pausing the movie right in the middle of an exciting, noisy car chase. "Hey, is everything okay," she asks over their simultaneous protests.

When they both nod, she eyes each of them by turns, back and forth and back and forth like a tennis match. "Things just don't feel right somehow," she observes, sounding more than a little worried.

This time Thor and Loki shrug in unison.

It's not as funny as it should be. Even Sif fails to laugh.

Eventually she shrugs her own shoulders in return, looking neither convinced nor comforted (not that Thor - or his brother, for that matter – has put any real effort into convincing her).

When she gives up and restarts the movie, they all watch quietly.

She doesn't stay very long.

~

Loki wanders off to bed as soon as Sif leaves. When Thor checks in on him later, feeling a little guilty for so doing even though he knows it’s justified, his brother is curled sweetly in bed… sound asleep.

Thor isn't sure what to do, so he pads quietly out and makes himself more-or-less (mostly less, but it will have to do) comfortable on the couch.

~

When his alarm goes off in the bedroom - good and long, because he has to wake up from a sound, sound sleep and sprint in from the living room to stop it - Loki is blinking sleepily.

Whatever he's thinking, and he is always, always thinking something, Loki keeps it to himself.

~

There isn't any day treatment on the weekends. They sleep away most of Saturday; it's not until early evening that the trouble starts.

"I'm bored," Loki volunteers, out of nowhere. He’s cranky; just this side of whining.

When "what do you want to do?" fails - not the least bit atypically, but what else is he going to try? - to draw out anything useful, Thor falls back on the old standby. "Want me to blow you?"

"No thanks," Loki says, and Thor's jaw all but drops. This? This may never have happened before, ever.

"Really? _Why?_ " It's probably not a productive pair of questions, and it's certain not an eloquent one, but he's floored and it's just what falls out of his dumbstruck brain… and then his mouth.

Loki shrugs. "It's not fun anymore. You act like you're doing me a service" - he smirks, and for a fraction of a second the old Loki is back - "and not in the kinky sense, either, sadly. It's like you have a list of chores: Load dishwasher," he starts out, making a big imaginary checkmark with one finger, "fold laundry, suck Loki off, scrub toilet." Check, check, check.

Thor isn't even sure where to begin on that one. "I don't- I don't want to hurt you?" It sounds like he’s asking his brother. In a way, he probably is.

"And I don't want to be a chore," Loki says flatly. "If all I need is my dick serviced, I do" - he holds both hands out, palms up; Thor very much wants to touch them but the timing feels all wrong - "have hands." From the look on Loki's face there's an _idiot_ tacked on the end of that statement; regardless, it goes unsaid.

"What's wrong with you?" That's not the right way to word the question either, and it's not even what Thor actually means, but it's out there and he can't take it back now. Although he sure does want to; he would eat every word if it killed him.

"Why does it always have to be _me_ ," Loki asks, clearly annoyed. He’s 100% full-on whining, this time.

Thor is still thinking through his various response options when his brother gets abruptly up from the couch and stalks out of the room.

~

Going to check up on Loki a few minutes later feels wrong, but Thor knows he won't in a million lifetimes forgive himself if he somehow lets something happen to his brother.

It feels far, far _more_ wrong another minute later (and then three) when he's standing outside the bathroom, eyes closed and forehead resting against the closed door, listening to the sounds of Loki's masturbation - the grunts, the soft wet slapping, the occasional gasp or muffled moan - the noise from the shower can't quite cover.

Thor lets his own hand drift down, down… and then makes himself stop. Nothing about this is okay. Nothing.

~

When Loki pads quietly back into the kitchen and grabs a ginger ale from the refrigerator, hair dripping wet and t-shirt translucent all down his chest, Thor only tears his eyes off his brother’s nipples with great effort. He makes himself focus on the can instead.

Which turns out to be no better; he can't help but notice the tooth-marks ringing Loki’s first two knuckles.

What he heard earlier - _muffled moans_ \- comes roaring back to him with a fiery vengeance. He wipes his dry, dry mouth (what he thinks is) secretively, only to catch Loki watching him closely. 

Thor can feel himself flushing, burning hot from chest to neck to face. He has to look away. To look down.

When he makes himself look back up, though, his brother doesn't smile.

~

Because he doesn’t want the whole couch thing to become a habit, Thor joins Loki in bed. They don’t touch, and they don’t talk.

Thor bolts upright in the middle of the night, awakened in the midst of a terrible, awful dream… _a dream in which his brother is drowning, bobbing and choking and gasping frantically for air, while Thor jerks himself idly off above him._ He somehow does manage not to wake Loki, but he doesn’t dare let himself sleep again.

~

The following Tuesday, Thor gets a courtesy call from his credit card company. It seems someone has gone to town on his card, at an out-of-town, Internet-based sex toy reseller. His first thought is to block all the charges, but the shipping address turns out to be his. _Loki._

Thor decides to let the charges stand, embarrassing or not. It’s not like he has to look the bank’s security officer in the eye, after all.

He should talk to his brother about _borrowing_ his cards.

He doesn’t.

~

The box is large and nondescript - _brown paper wrappers and all that jazz_ \- with a return address that sounds vaguely family-friendly. It’s waiting in the lobby when Thor gets home from work. “I think this is yours,” he tells Loki when his brother arrives fresh from day treatment.

“Not like it would be yours, now, would it,” Loki observes, tone more than a little snide. Derisive.

“It could be,” Thor says, chin out.

“Are you seeing someone,” Loki asks instead of responding. The question comes completely out of left field.

Thor actually gasps, out loud and everything. “Of course not,” he splutters. “Why the fuck would you say that?” _Why the fuck would you think that?"_

Loki shrugs, eyes narrowed. “You don’t seem interested anymore. Never mind. Pretend I never mentioned it.” He picks up the box and turns to carry it off down the hall.

“What did you get,” Thor asks more loudly than he means to. He’s torn between wanting to know and living in eternal, happy ignorance.

His brother stops halfway down the hall, box balanced carefully in both hands. “Nothing of any interest to you.”

“How do you know? Try me.” Thor, palms sweaty, trails after Loki uninvited and undeterred.

~

Which is how they end up in bed not all that much later, Loki blindfolded and naked and _chained to the headboard with a pair of soft leather wrist cuffs._ Thor kneels up between his brother’s long, spread legs, panting and nauseated and painfully hard _and utterly at a loss as to how to proceed_.

“Get on with it, Thor,” Loki grits out, writhing frantically. “We’re not talking rocket science here. It’s fucking. Seriously, even you must know what to do.”

Thor does, and does. He makes his best possible attempt to be gentle, just the same, even when gentleness is clearly not what his brother wants. In the end they are sweaty and spent and all tangled up in one another… and yet somehow never farther apart in their lives.

~

“I haven’t been completely forthcoming,” Thor tells his therapist the following day. “And I think I need to be, because I need help with something, badly. It won’t make sense otherwise,” he tries to explain, feeling wrong-footed and stupid.

“Of course,” the social worker says, everything about him – from his rumpled sweater to his glasses to his messy mouse-brown curls - radiating sympathy. “Whenever you’re ready.”

Thor isn’t sure he will ever be ready. “I really, really need you to keep this confidential,” he emphasizes, waiting until the therapist’s pencil is lying untouched on the table before proceeding. He coughs. No point in beating around the bush. “My partner… is not just my partner. He’s my brother. My _adoptive_ brother,” he quickly adds, in case that somehow makes a difference.

And then he cringes, and waits for the lightning to strike him down.


End file.
